Nightside City

For another, I had all those recordings I'd made out in the West End waiting for analysis, and that would take a while. I hadn't seen anything worth a buck, but in theory I might have missed something the recorders caught.

I took the com out of interactive, to make it a bit harder for anyone to watch what I was doing, and then I loaded the data in, told the com I wanted anything anomalous, valuable, or presenting significant commercial potential, and I let it run.

With that ru

I didn't bother checking for the eye; I knew it was still out there. If you want the truth, in a way it was almost comforting, knowing that it was watching over me. Nobody else was anymore.

About 7:00 I got a buzz and rolled out; the message code was flashing. I didn't even bother with any damn keys, I just called over my downtime wire for a playback. I plugged in when I slept mostly for the sake of the dreams, but the wire was hooked into the main system all the same, just in case of emergency.

"Carlisle Hsing," the message said, in what didn't even pretend to be a human voice. "Mis' Sayuri Nakada is not interested in anything you might have to say, on any subject. She does not deal with losers. You made three calls, to three different codes; call any of those again, or any other com access in this household, and you will be charged with harassment. If further clarification is needed, you may contact, once and once only, the customer affairs program of the New York Games Corporation."

That wasn't a damn bit of help. It was a safe bet that my IRC file had been checked, going by that line about losers, but I didn't even know if Nakada had been consulted; software can take a hell of a lot on itself if a user isn't careful. I had that call to the New York I could make, but I decided to hold off; I might need it later. Except for that narrow crack, it seemed I was at another dead end.

That reminded me of my little stroll out by the crater wall. I got up, unplugged, got myself a cup of tea, and took it over to my desk, where I punched for the results on the West End data.

Nothing. No anomalies, no commercial potential, nothing of value at all. Everything I saw there was just what it was supposed to be-a lot of decaying, abandoned real estate no good to anybody once the sun came over the crater rim. If anything was hidden there, it was hidden very well indeed, and shielded, as well.

The thought of shielding reminded me of my faithful companion; I cleared the window and looked out.

The spy-eye was still hanging there, blocking half my view of the Trap's glitter. A couple of advertisers were buzzing around it, trying to feed their pitches to anyone who might be monitoring, but it seemed to be doing a good job of ignoring them. It was also ignoring the wind, and the traffic on the street below, and just about everything else. When it saw the window change its main lens swiveled up from the door to my face, but other than that it didn't move a millimeter. I waved hello, then blacked the window again.

I hoped the poor thing wasn't capable of boredom. Since it said it had no free will, I figured it probably wasn't.

I went back to thinking about the case.

I'd had three approaches, and two of them were blocked, at least temporarily-or rather, learning anything from Nakada was blocked by all that flapper software, and though the approach through the West End wasn't really blocked, it just didn't seem to go anywhere.

That left Paulie Orchid.

I knew he wouldn't be awake at 7:30, or at least I thought I knew it, but I punched in his code anyway, and what the hell, he surprised me. He answered. No software, either-I got his own face, first beep.

His hair was black and slick and polished, his eye-sockets were neatly squared, and tidy little rows of silver wire gleamed on his cheekbones. If he'd ever had facial hair he'd had it removed, and more wires sparkled along the line of his jaw, every fifth one gold.

I couldn't say for certain that his nose and lips weren't natural, but if they were he'd hit it lucky in the genetic lottery-assuming he wasn't tailored, that is, and for all I know he was, though in that case it's a mystery how he ever wound up a small-time operator on Epimetheus.

I've got to admit that his appearance caught my interest. I'd seen him before, but I hadn't paid much attention, and besides, he'd changed some-the wire job and hairslick were both new, and I wasn't sure about some of the rest. He looked slick now, very smooth and polished-not just his hair, but his whole ma

From what I knew of his history I'd have expected him to wind up in the West End, but he'd clearly been moving in the opposite direction. I wondered if he'd had the brains to buy himself a little implant education, or maybe some personality work.

He smiled at me, showing perfect teeth.

I wanted to gag. He was slick, but something nasty still showed through. I could see that whatever he wanted me to believe, he still knew he was bad news. Polished slime is still slime.

"Yes, mis', what can I do for you?" he asked, still showing those teeth.

"Hello, Mis' Orchid. I'm calling in regard to Westwall Redevelopment. I was hoping…"

I stopped there, because the smile was gone. His face was flat and expressionless.

"What were you hoping?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me something about your plans for the company," I said.

"I don't have any. Who are you, anyway? Your origination isn't registering."

That was because I didn't want it to, of course; I had a scrambler on line, blocking it, and was rerouting the call to make doubly sure it didn't register.

Before I could say anything, though, he said, "Wait a minute, I know you-you're Hsing, the detective, right?" The smile was back, but it wasn't as friendly this time. A mean streak was showing. "That was your software that got busted on me yesterday, right?"

I smiled. He didn't look quite as smooth anymore.

He looked predatory, instead. That I knew how to deal with.

"Hey, I'm glad I stayed up late," he said. "I wouldn't want to have missed your call."

"Oh?" I said.

"That's right, Hsing-Carlie, isn't it?" I didn't answer, and he went on. "Whatever, I've got something I wanted to tell you."

"Oh?" I said again. "What's that?"

"To leave me alone. I'm more than you can handle, lady. Maybe I wasn't before, but I am now."

I didn't believe that, but I didn't argue, because I didn't want him to try to prove anything on me just then. I just smiled again.

We were smiling all over, weren't we? And neither of us meant any of it, not if you consider a smile anything pleasant.

His smile disappeared.

"Listen," he said. "I mean it. I don't want you anywhere near me on Westwall Redevelopment. You just stay out of my affairs, or you're likely to get seriously damaged." He paused, looking at me, and added, "At least, stay out of my business affairs-I won't say I wouldn't mind meeting you in person some time. That won't get you damaged, just bent." He leered, and I blanked the screen. I don't like leers. I don't figure I deserve them; I'm no beauty. I mean, I'm not a hag, either, but I just don't see my face as an incitement to lust at first sight. People don't leer at me much, not anymore. Anyone who leers at me without provocation is either faking it, has perverse tastes, or has no discrimination at all. I figured Orchid for the last, and for a probable case of satyriasis.